


Etch

by ephieshine



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Childhood to Adulthood, F/M, Magical Realism, Older Sakura, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-11 15:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4441817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephieshine/pseuds/ephieshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Kakashi character study, in which the words others say about you become etched into your skin.</p><blockquote>
  <p><br/><i>Sensei.</i> The word appears one morning and his heart jumps to his throat. It’s a girl’s writing, naïve and sweet, perfect strokes meticulously mastered, imprinted onto the back of his left hand. He’s horrified at it, scrubs at it in his sink. (Like that’s ever worked.) When it doesn’t come off, he gets fingerless gloves—thankfully not uncommon for a shinobi—and covers the word up with haste.<br/></p>
</blockquote><br/>Part I is Kakashi-centric, from childhood to mid-twenties; Part II is KakaSaku, post-war.
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Corporeal Vocabulary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/927143) by [bluebackstabber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebackstabber/pseuds/bluebackstabber). 



> Foreword: based on this idea from the fic ["Permanent Marker"](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7498289/1/Permanent-Marker) and inspired by bluebackstabber's lovely EruRi fic along the same lines: the words others say about you become etched into your skin. Those that are repeated grow in size.
> 
> Part I is rated T for language and slight sexual content. Part II is pretty G. Part III or whatever number will be the last one, that'll be M. I already have half of that written. Part I is Kakashi-centric and does not contain mentions of the ship.

The beginning of his life is filled with love and affection, terms of endearment rained upon him as easily as water.  _Son. Darling. My love._ The words start at his chest, just above his tiny heart, speckling the hidden skin there, radiating out to his armpits, his hips, his belly, and his throat. Big, shaky black chicken-scratch, the way he'd later learn his father wrote. Woven between them, smaller curling script, elegant:  _baby. Kakashi. Beloved._ He doesn't remember his mother, for she died months after his birth and her name is taboo under his father's roof, but the words stay with him, on him.

His father mourns, but his parents had been well-liked. The neighbours help out, call him  _adorable, sweetheart, such a quiet boy!_  And sometimes by accident:  _Sakumo—oh, sorry!_ gets tucked under his chin, a funny little secret.

He enrolls in the academy at four, and graduates within a year. It's too easy, really. He doesn't talk much to the other kids _—_ doesn't have time to before he graduates _—_ but they certainly talk about him.  _Genius_ , he gets called.  _Prodigy_  finds its place on his shoulder, right beside a snide  _stuck-up_. That's the last one he finds on his body before his father fails the mission and kills himself.

 _Bastard. Orphan. Son of a traitor._ Nastier, cruder words, some of which he doesn't even understand; big ugly block letters that grow with every iteration. Sometimes he hears them shouted, just outside the estate, and watches in disgust as the words stretch out across his ribs, seeking more real estate, and he's helpless to stop them.

By five, he's got more words on him than most teenagers, and he doesn't realize until later they're telling in a fight; words reveal secrets about you that others can exploit.

::~::

The Hokage doesn't give him time to ruminate, places him under Namikaze Minato's care as soon as the paperwork goes through. He moves into their home eventually, gets spoiled by Kushina. A couple new words just above his hip:  _dear_ and _be careful with that. Love_  and  _darling_ grow, but not  _son_ , never that anymore.

He meets Rin and Obito, both of whom are older than him. But when they go to the public baths on missions, he secretly envies the plainness of Obito's skin, marked only with harmless words like  _prankster, annoying,_ and  _stupid_. (He doesn't see the smaller words, the ones Obito covers up the same time he eyes the imprint of  _love_  and  _son_  on Kakashi.)

He clashes with Obito, doesn't really talk to Rin. He's never known kids is own age, and Minato's not great with resolving conflicts between his students.  _Cheater, uptight._  Obito sneaks the words, tiny as they are, onto his stomach. (In retaliation, Kakashi gets  _dumbass, loser,_ and _idiot_  onto Obito.)

Regardless, they enroll in the Chuunin exam as a team, and they get through the Forest with few mishaps. In the first round however, Rin gets knocked out by a girl from Sand, her clothes in tatters after a nasty wind jutsu. His own fight having gone smoothly, Kakashi watches over her unconscious body in the medical huts _—_ something she flushes beet red over once she wakes up—and accidentally sees the words  _little bitch_ and  _whore's daughter_  scrawled on her left breast, the same place on Kakashi where  _love_ and  _darling_ and  _son_ reside. He doesn't think of her as  _naïve_ in his head ever again.

He's matched with some loon named Might Gai for his final round, who he expects to defeat in a mere few seconds. A brazen kid, yelling encouragements and good wishes to him before the battle starts. Kakashi's a bit drunk on the energy of the crowd, and he takes off his protective vest in a blatant display of superiority.  _Won't need this_ , he sneers, and Gai's eyes flicker to his shoulder as the crowd roars.

In the end Kakashi wins, of course. But beaten and bloody as Gai is as he's carried out on a stretcher, Kakashi has to admit he underestimated him. Kakashi's got a broken nose, a dislocated shoulder, and an alarming lack of chakra left; Gai had gotten up an unbelievable number of times before finally succumbing to unconsciousness, and Kakashi doesn't understand how.

In the months and years following the fight,  _R-I-V-A-L_  blossoms in bloated letters encircling his calf. Later on, years later, he asks Gai how he knew that stamina was his weakness and Gai smiles. "It's written all over you," he says, a big grin on his face. The old faded words  _genius_  and  _prodigy_ on his shoulders darken again.

::~::

The war goes on, gets nastier. He learns that there are truly no rules in the shinobi profession. You take what the world gives you, accept the words others toss at you. You fight back, because that's all you  _can_  do.

He stops noticing the way all the new words appear after particularly bloody missions. There are too many to count, too many to grimace over. As they fan out into the borders of the Fire Country he gets words in other languages, ugly slashes he doesn't care to try and decipher. He doesn't look into mirrors anymore (and his hair suffers for it). The only time he reads them now is when he's injured; a broken tibia forces him to take off his shoes and roll up his pant leg for Rin to tend to.  _Murderer. Shinobi. Evil._ A myriad of curses spat out from mouths of people he's killed. The worst of them:  _Please have mercy._ Rin never says anything.

After Obito dies, he finds on his ankle a tiny word he's not seen before, a bright candle against an ocean of obscenities.  _Friend_ , it says.

::~::

Then he kills Rin, fucks up another mission, and closes himself off as Minato brings him into ANBU. He's the youngest when he first joins, and some are in awe of him.  _Resilient. Unbreakable._ Others, suspicious.  _Emotionless. Ruthless. Friend killer._

The years fly by, missions and targets one after the next. He gets more blood on his hands than he can quantify, and starts to forget who put which words onto him.  _Not my baby, please!_ on his upper arm is the one that haunts him the most. He requests a long-sleeved uniform, wears it always, despite the stifling heat of Konoha summers.

One mission he remembers vividly, and the word  _Senpai_  gets plastered just above his knee in child-like writing.

::~::

Sometimes he wonders what it's like to be invisible, unknown. To not be talked about, because at this point his chest is covered in black ink. He's never seen anyone with words on their hands, but he's still in his teens and the words are creeping their way there, sneaking onto his arms, curving into the crook of his right elbow. Some days he feels like they weigh him down; the sheer number of them makes him look seventy, when all's been said about a person. But no, he thinks, perhaps there's been no mistake. Perhaps it's because shinobi don't  _live_ to seventy; perhaps it's better to have gotten the words out of the way early, dirty as some of them are.

::~::

He gets older, and his father's infamy in Konoha no longer precedes Kakashi himself.  _Handsome_ , he finds on his thigh one day. He scoffs, pulls  _Icha Icha Paradise_  higher to cover his face. ( _Pervert._ )

He finds a lover, a civilian girl who doesn't completely understand that the life of a shinobi is not heroic and desirable in the least. But her hands are soft and her breasts softer—he admires at the few words on her skin—and he's just surpassed Minato in height. So he courts her for a few months, fucks her for a few weeks (in the dark of course; he's learned his lesson about letting others see his words) before she brings up the topic of marriage, and he disappears with ease, courtesy of years of shinobi training.  _Bastard_  balloons, the end of the word circling round to his back, where he can't see it anymore.

::~::

His reputation grows, and so do his titles and rumours.  _Sharingan Kakashi. The Copy-Ninja. The Man of a Thousand Jutsus._   _A phenomenal lover._ (One of those last two is an exaggeration; he'll let you decide which.) He knows these, expects them.

What he doesn't expect:  _hero_  gets etched across the left side of his face, the word bisected by the scar that had gotten there first. It's covered by the mask he already wears, and he prefers it that way.

Minato-sensei and Kushina die, and Kakashi adds another mask, another layer, afraid someone will see the lie, that bullshit piece of a word,  _hero._

::~::

The Third Hokage forces him to leave ANBU, and soon after that, three little brats appear in his life named Thing One, Thing Two, and Thing Three (or as others call them: Naruto, Sasuke, and Sakura), and a whole slew of new words appear, marching across his chest.  _Irresponsible. Awesome. Weird. L-A-T-E. Cool_ and  _strong_  get bigger, and so does  _handsome._  He doesn't mind them, not really. But it is strange that  _handsome_  has hints of Naruto's scrawl, too.

Then,  _Sensei._ The word appears one morning and his heart jumps to his throat. It's a girl's writing, naïve and sweet, perfect strokes meticulously mastered, imprinted onto the back of his left hand. He's horrified at it, scrubs at it in his sink. (Like that's ever worked.) When it doesn't come off, he gets fingerless gloves—thankfully not uncommon for a shinobi—and covers the word up with haste.

The years with the brats go by shockingly quickly, and he's aghast at the word  _old_  on his collar. After Sasuke deserts the village, he looks into a mirror for the first time in years, searches for the word  _failure_  that he's certain should be there.

It's not, and there's a brief moment he considers carving it into his wrist with a kunai himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UM OK so this didn’t turn out the way I had planned- oh who am I kidding. I didn’t plan anything. :) That first part just came so naturally after reading bluebackstabber’s fic, and I didn’t know where I wanted to go with it afterwards. So I felt like I had more of a story to tell, so I’m gonna split this into 3 parts. Here’s Part II, which is more scene-based then Part I. TW SASUKE HATE (jk he’s mentioned for like 5 seconds but my characterization might be a turn-off for some.)

The war ends in all in a dazed sort of incredulity, the celebrations carried out in a state of disbelief but with whole-hearted enthusiasm.

There’s a brief period of peace between all the shinobi of the Allied Corps before the baseline tensions start up again, everyone returning to their respective villages. It’s sad to see the festivities end, but there remains a sense of comradeship; Sakura bears the evidence on her skin: _friend_ and _medic_ are imprinted on her body in multiple dialects, the script a warm embrace that lingers despite the distance.

When Sasuke returns to the village she sees him clearly for the first time, a chain of words across his bared collarbones screaming _filth-Traitor-MURDERER-UCHIHA_ ; these days his family name is the dirtiest word of them all.

His hair is scraggly, his eyes bloodshot at his trial. Kakashi pardons him as his first decree as the Sixth Hokage, but there’s hardly a flicker of emotion in those dark eyes of his. These days what used to be charisma has faded into a frightening darkness. _Cold. Distant. Uncaring._ Sakura’s not sure how she overlooked it back then.

(These days, _handsome_ has faded to a mere shadow on his shoulder.)

::~::

Tsunade steps down as Hokage, naming Kakashi as her successor. Despite his blatant rejection, somehow he finds himself holed up in the Hokage’s office barely two weeks later, sweat dripping from his neck down his back under the thick muslin of the Hokage’s robe as he signs one paper after the next. (His signature is a messy _Kakashi_ followed by a crude sketch of a one-eyed scarecrow.) Quickly he has a newfound respect for Tsunade and Minato; politics are harder than scaling mountains, more bloody and cutthroat than ruthless assassinations committed in the dead of the night.

These days his words change. _Irresponsible_ fades. _Dependable_ surges up in its place, and the word tastes foreign on his tongue, like bastardized version of a favourite childhood food. These days he looks at his words more often, stares into the mirror with his clothes half-off and watches the whorls shift and a village of people whisper about him.

::~::

He doesn’t see her much these days.

When she shows up at the window of the Hokage tower, rapping impatiently on the window, to say he’s surprised is an understatement.

Sakura’s eighteen, he knows, but she looks older than that. Indeed, she’s been through, been a significant part of the largest war in shinobi history. But that doesn’t stop her from poking his upper arm hard as soon as he unlatches the window and lets her in. “Where’d it go?”

He blinks at her, doesn’t understand for a moment. Then he remembers the way she and Naruto used to crow at him: _Unreliable! Irresponsible! Late!_ The words had once covered that arm.

“I guess it’s been a while.”

She laughs, a genuine sound. He’s missed genuineness, being that his days are spent with politicians. That’s all, he says firmly to himself. That’s the only reason for the clenching feeling in his gut.

“If you’d like, I can say them every night and make them come back,” she offers, eyes twinkling with mirth.

Kakashi gives her a long-suffering look out of habit. It comes out fonder than he intends. “What are you doing here, Sakura?”

“Just finished designing my first S-class poison,” she says, eyes alight with excitement as she rattles off the components and advantages and effects.

“Isn’t this highly classified information?” Kakashi asks mildly when she pauses for breath, but his heart is swelling with pride. “Not even I should know until you’ve submitted it for approval, no?”

And it’s then he realizes letting her into his office had been a terrible idea from the start.

She grins at him, all sharp teeth and spirited eyes, a woman now, not the girl who had first come into his care. The top button of her blouse is undone, he notices in a slight shock. Glittering, promising ( _no, no, no, she’s just a girl, she’d kill you if she knew what you were thinking_ ) — “We don't have secrets. I trust you,” she laughs, blithe.

 _You shouldn’t_ , he thinks.

Suddenly he’s glad he doesn’t see her much these days.

::~::

Sakura becomes the Head Director of the hospital, starts up the much-needed mental health ward on her own. She fights the elders for the funding, for the support, and in the end she wins them over. Though hard-won admiration is written on their faces, they whisper behind her back: _bossy._ _Tiger woman. The Second Tsunade._

Quietly Kakashi thinks to himself when he watches her from afar at the unveiling of the newly-constructed ward: she’s truly blossomed like the flower she was named after.

Of course, he never says that out loud.

::~::

Becoming Hokage is the reason the _hero_ on his face becomes common knowledge. They’d forced him to take off his mask modelling for the Hokage monument—he would have refused, but Tsunade hadn’t given up her title as Hokage and thus his superior until she’d made sure every square millimeter of his face had been mapped out in agonizing detail. (They could have at least ignored the mole, he thinks despairingly the first time the monument is unveiled.)

Now, despite covering his face with the usual two masks and the veil of the Hokage’s hat, the word keeps growing as people read it off the monument. _Hero-hero-hero_ stretches across his face until he can no longer conceal it (not if he still wants an uncovered eye with which to see), the two syllables overtaking the vertical scar that reminds him to this day of his greatest failure—

No, he stops himself, and looks out the window to the monument.

 _He-ro_ , it says. Not _fail-ure_.

::~::

Her mother passes away three years after the war. Her father’s a mess for a month or so, and despite all the death Sakura’s seen, all the anguish of bereaved loved ones she’s handled, she can’t face him, and the stifling pressure envelops her in the family home, in the streets, really anywhere she can see people who had known her mother. _Poor girl_ , they whisper behind unmarred, civilian hands.

Kakashi finds her on the Academy swingset after the memorial service.

“Yo,” he says, a two-fingered gesture as always. She’s gotten used to seeing him in his Hokage’s robes, at least in passing. “Mind if I join you?”

She’s not had contact with him for a long time—not beyond simple hellos and we-should-meet-ups that lead to nowhere, anyhow—with him as Hokage and her figuring out her life and future. He feels familiar and different all at the same time, but _awkward_ is the word that springs into the forefront of her mind. She smiles to herself as he tries to fit his frame into the too-small swing beside her. _Gawky. A contradiction._ He makes small talk, gloved hands fiddling with the wide brim of his Hokage’s hat— _awkward-awkward-awkward_ —until he straight-up asks her how she’s feeling about her mother’s death.

(She appreciates the straight-fowardness of it; she’s tired of weaving around the subject, tired of hiding from it. Kakashi gets it, she thinks, because they’ve both gone through it, as shinobi, that realization that any time spent on pleasantries and ambiguity and social etiquette is simply precious time wasted.)

“Hollow,” is the word she utters. She feels hollow and empty, even though she knows her mother lived a good life. She’s got millions of happy memories with her mother but now all she can think of is the pale, slack face in the coffin. Kakashi waits, and she caves. Keeps talking. “Scared. Like I’m going to forget about her. Like every memory I have with her is disappearing and I can’t hold onto them. You know that feeling?”

She lifts her head, because even then, Kakashi doesn’t reply. _Say something_ , she thinks. _Anything._

“Kaka-sensei,” she whispers. Pleads.

He stiffens slightly at the title. Oh yes, he doesn’t like to be called that anymore. “Yeah,” he says finally, voice gruff. “I know what you mean.”

And she lets out a breath at that because he _does_ know what she means; he’s seen much more death and experienced far more grief than she has. He gets it, and that means the world to her. Her lips curve up in a silent, grateful smile as they go back to a comfortable silence.

“Your words,” Kakashi says slowly after a few minutes. “What do they mean to you?”

She’s confused at this turn of conversation. “Hate them,” she mumbles, because they’re _fucking annoying_ when she wants to wear short sleeves out with Ino; she hasn’t been able to cover them up entirely since the explosion of words during the war and—

He lifts the hem of his robe slightly, and Sakura’s about to reprimand him— _pervert_ hangs on the tip of her tongue—when the word comes into view.

 _Friend._ His leg is covered in black, profanities tripping over one another but _Friend_ stands out stark clear, small as it is, right on the little bump of his ankle, neat as can be. She stares at it, understanding dawning _._

“I like them,” he says slowly, “because they stay there, even after the people who said them are gone.”

 _Daughter_ , it says on her sternum, a fusion of her parents’ handwriting. It’s small—compared to _strong_ these days, letters marching across her upper arm for all to see—but it’s kept its intensity through the years, easily the darkest imprint on her. _Love_ is another, the strokes of the characters flaring, wrought by countless hands, but underneath it all is the first person who had uttered the word. _Sakura, my daughter, my love_. Tinkling laughter, a warm, tight hug. The smell of her mother’s perfume lingers in the recesses of her mind, envelopes her and gives her strength.

She stands up, and the pressure’s alleviated, at least a bit. “Thank you, Kaka-sensei.” He opens his mouth to say something, automatic, but she places a finger on his masked lips. His eyes go wide; _hero_ stretches. “I know,” she says with a small laugh. “Kakashi.” It feels strange in her mouth.

She leans in and kisses him on his left cheek, lips brushing fabric, just below the word _._

“Goodnight, Kakashi.”

He sits there for hours after she leaves, cheek burning.

Burning almost as hot as the word _sensei_ on his hand, a branding.

::~::

In the morning, he learns that she’s left for Sand.

“An alliance between the hospitals,” he’s told much too late. The medical system, the medic explains, being entirely separate from other forms of governance, meant the decision had rightfully been made without him.

“How long?” he demands, not knowing if he’s grateful for or dreading her absence.

The medic shrugs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is highly appreciated, especially because of the change in pace/style :) thanks for reading.


End file.
